Graveside Grieving
by Chirugal
Summary: Final goodbyes are the hardest to say... A collection of scenes showing how characters deal with the loss of a loved one - see author's note inside for details. Variety of characters, ships and friendships. Very obvious warning: character deaths.
1. Gibbs at Abby's Grave

**Title**: Graveside Grieving**  
Rating**: T for violence**  
Spoilers**: None for now…**  
Summary**: Final goodbyes are the hardest to say.

**Author's Note**: This will be a variety of POVs, characters' graves and pairings. If there's one you want me to write - shippy or gen - let me know. It's going to be on a first come, first served basis though - I'm writing them in the order that I get the requests. I'm starting with Gabby because that's my primary ship, but the shipping's secondary to the angst, if that makes any sense. So hopefully non-Gabbyers won't be too put off.

I'm not aiming to do multi-chaptered for any one death - so you won't see a chapter two of this with Gibbs investigating events. If you want that, go read TrivetteLoverHeather's _Blind Faith_. This is just concentrating on graveside stuff, and the different way characters deal with the death of a loved one.

* * *

**Gibbs – Abby's grave**

_Gibbs/Abby  
_

_

* * *

_

Abby is buried in the pouring rain, on a bleak Tuesday in April.

A little while earlier, the church service was crowded with the people who loved her, a swathe of mourners dressed in black. There were so many attendees that once the pews were filled, a couple of dozen were left to stand at the back of the room.

Over half of her colleagues from the Navy Yard were present, as well as the nuns she'd befriended and bowled with. The rest of the congregation were friends she'd won from various places, some obviously identifying as 'alternative', others giving no clues as to where she'd met them. Abby didn't discriminate when it came to handing out smiles and hugs, and every person present – from her young niece to the oldest of the nuns – loved her in return.

Now that they've moved on from the church to the cemetery, the crowd has respectfully dwindled to close friends and family. At the pastor's side stands Abby's only surviving family member, the brother who moved up to DC not long after she did. Josh stands straight and pale, holding an umbrella over his wife and three-year-old daughter's heads.

Gibbs and his team represent NCIS. Ziva, McGee and Tony stand shoulder-to-shoulder, as if drawing comfort from one another. The boys are teary-eyed, though they don't break down and cry. Between them, Ziva is more stoic than usual; her face a mask, her body motionless.

Gibbs declined to share Ducky's umbrella, standing slightly apart from the rest, barely aware of the driving rain that soaks his shirt and drips from his skin. His gaze is fixed on the headstone that will mark Abby's final resting place from this day forward, and he reads the newly-carved words over and over.

_Abigail Sciuto_

_March 27 1969 – April 16 2009_

_Beloved Sister, Aunt, Friend._

_She hated the sun, but she brought it into our lives._

_Rest in Peace_

Gibbs doesn't hear the final words of the priest, nor feel Ducky's hand on his shoulder, as Abby's coffin is lowered into the ground. One foot, two, three, four, five, six…

"Boss?"

DiNozzo's voice is strained. Gibbs glances up to see his team all staring at him, knowing the loss of his favourite has hit him hard. "We're going back to Ducky's for a while. To have a few drinks, and… remember her. You coming?"

He shakes his head, feeling the chill of the spring rain at last. "Later, maybe. Need to dry off first."

His words fool neither them nor himself. They all know that while the team sits around, recalling Abby's life and letting alcohol gently numb away their grief, Gibbs will be in his basement, finding catharsis in sawdust and solitude.

They each touch his shoulder on their way past him, joining the trickle of mourners leaving the gravesite. Soon he's alone, save for the men charged with the task of filling in the grave – of actually burying Abby.

Their presence is an insistent reminder of what must be done, and with a pain in his heart that's almost physical, he turns and walks away.

His mind is a blank as he drives home, the image of Abby's headstone imprinted on his consciousness. On autopilot, he strips off his wet clothes, takes a scalding shower that does nothing to warm him, and dresses in less formal attire.

The rain has ceased, and a couple of patches of blue sky are peeking through the storm-clouds. It's not a conscious decision to return to the cemetery. A little under an hour later, he simply finds himself there, following the smell of freshly turned earth to the turf that's been rolled out to cover the newly-filled grave.

Her coffin, the one she used to sleep in, is buried under six feet of dirt. He'll never look upon her face again, never kiss her cheek or watch her hands move animatedly as she speaks without sound.

He can't think of the rest – of her body pressed against his, her warm lips meeting his own. Their relationship had been new – barely three months old – when she met her premature end.

He crouches by the gravestone, resting a hand on the damp turf, her name on his lips. Her last moments have been burned into his brain since he witnessed them.

_Her smile widened to a grin in response to something he said. Then her eye-contact wavered to something behind him; her eyes widened, breath catching in preparation to warn him. "Gibbs-"_

_It was the last word she ever spoke. With surprising strength, she ploughed into him, knocking him to the ground as the shot sliced the air where he'd been._

_He didn't realise Abby had been hit, at first. He instinctively drew his weapon and fired at the shooter, double-tapping the heart. Then, his agent training guiding him, he sprinted over to check the shots had hit their mark, kicking away the guy's weapon before realising Abby hadn't picked herself up to follow him._

_And that his jacket sleeve was glistening with blood._

_He ran back to the spot where they'd fallen, yelling her name and getting no response. She'd taken a bullet to the chest – not the heart, but as near as damnit. Gasping for breath her punctured lung couldn't retain, her eyes glazed with shock, she reached out to him._

_Less than two minutes later, she was dead._

His gut wrenches with guilt and grief as the memories pour over each other: how he'd closed her eyes with a shaking hand; how he'd held her warm, lifeless corpse, stroking her hair, whispering more apologies than he'd ever made in his life against her neck until Ducky prised him away. Looking up, bloodstained and numb, he'd seen a collection of his colleagues standing a short way off, by the Navy Yard's rear entrance, motionless and disbelieving.

The moment is so immediate, so vivid, that he can't get enough air. At that moment, he almost doesn't care. Abby is six feet below him, lying cold and still in the coffin she slept in the entire time that he'd known her. A few times during their short-lived relationship, she'd tried to persuade him to share it with her, insisting it was big enough for two. He'd always refused, amused by her wide-eyed protests as he carried her to her bed.

"I'm so sorry, Abbs," he says softly, running his hand over her headstone a final time before turning away.

Right now, he'd give anything he has to be in there with her.


	2. Abby at Gibbs' Grave

**Author's Note**: Wow, thank you everyone... and also sorry to anyone I made cry! *hands out tissues and hugs* So, KellyRoxton got in first with a request for Abby at Gibbs' grave. And again, it's Gabby... sorry to the non-shippers! But I've done it both ways around now, so anything from here on out isn't going to be. Here we go!

* * *

**Abby – Gibbs' grave**

_Gibbs/Abby_

_

* * *

_

The cemetery tends to be deserted at night, and that's the way Abby wants it. The funeral was earlier today, but she hadn't wanted to say goodbye in front of everyone else. If she had, they'd most likely call her crazy and lock her up.

So she'd kept her silence as she ran her hand over the coffin, thinking that Gibbs would appreciate the workmanship that had been put into crafting it. She let the tears fall at Jackson Gibbs' speech; sobbed in Tony's arms as Vance had delivered the usual Director spiel about NCIS' loss. Played jazz on the way from the cemetery, and planned her real goodbye as she slowly walked at Ducky's side.

Now, she wanders amongst the headstones without fear – being alone in the darkness has never scared her. Even if it used to, she's too out of it to care right now.

She reaches Gibbs' grave and sets down a cup of strong, black coffee by his headstone, then pats the turf over his grave. "Hey, Gibbs. Brought you some coffee."

Her only reply is a slight breeze that stirs the humid night air. But who knows? Maybe Gibbs can see and hear her right now… He always did have a spooky sixth sense for when she needed to speak to him.

Stretching out on her stomach over the grave, she folds her arms at head level and rests her cheek on them, sighing. "Guess this is as close as we get to a hug now, huh?" she murmurs, blinking away tears. The memory of how his arms used to feel around her is vivid, and for a few moments she can only steel herself against the pain of her loss.

It's a while before she trusts herself to speak. "Sorry I was so quiet at the funeral. I didn't wanna do this in front of everyone else. They're coping as well as they can and trying to look out for me, too… it's not fair on them."

The moon glides out from behind a cloud, bathing the cemetery in brilliant moonlight. Abby brushes away a stray tear and sighs. "Gonna miss you, Gibbs… Who's gonna interrupt me mid-sentence now? I mean, Tony tries… he always tries to be you, when you're not around, but he…"

She chokes back the urge to sob and lays her cheek on the ground, wanting to be as close to Gibbs as possible. "He's not you. He could never… never quite get the stare down, y'know? O-or the smile. He always looks at me when he smiles, but you… you always looked away. Which, you know, is probably a good thing, since if you didn't you'd totally have caught me drooling more than once."

She's quiet for a few seconds, trying to collect her pained thoughts and memories and numb them into something she can bear to express. Finally, she murmurs, "Yeah… I think I kinda love you, Gibbs. Like, crazy, out-of-control, can't-stop-thinking-about-you love. But I didn't… I couldn't tell you. Didn't know what you'd say. Sometimes I thought you might already know, and a few times I even thought you might feel the same, but I…"

Sighing, she sits up and fixes the gravestone with a direct look. "I was too scared to tell you. Cause I liked seeing your smile, and I liked our birthday dinners and I liked that you used to hug me and kiss my cheek and bring me Caf-Pow! and let me stay at your place when I was scared and…"

Running out of breath, she pauses, a bitter laugh escaping her as another thought occurs. "See, right there? That's where you woulda stopped me. Guess I'm gonna need to learn to do that for myself now, huh?"

Her only reply is the distant rumble of a truck passing on the street. Abby has never felt so alone. Wrapping her arms around herself for comfort, she swallows back the lump in her throat for the hundredth time today. "I didn't wanna lose the friendship that we had, and I always thought I'd tell you someday. When I was… I dunno. Stronger? Or braver, or…? Something."

Her voice fades to a whisper in the darkness, as the clouds cover the moon once more. "But I guess what I really came here to do is apologise. For not getting that result faster. If I had, you coulda been better prepared when you went on the arrest, and you'd have known that…"

The wall she's tried to build around her emotions crumbles and disintegrates, and she curls into a ball on the grass, her sobs carrying through the deserted cemetery. Her entire body shakes with the force of her sorrow, and her tears fall into the grass, soaked up by the earth that separates her from Gibbs' coffin. She loses all sense of who she is and where she is, giving herself over to the full force of her grief.

When she finally calms enough to sit up again, the pained clamour of her thoughts has ceased. She feels surer of herself than she has in days, as if she's just been on the receiving end of one of Gibbs' silent pep-talks. Maybe she has. All of a sudden, she knows that he doesn't blame her for his death, and it feels as though a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. How does he do that, even now? "You always did know what to say," she mutters, trying a forlorn smile as she wipes her eyes.

"Guess you're pretty worried about me, huh? But I'll be okay. I promise. I just… need a little time to freak out, first. Remember when you went to Mexico for a few months? Kinda like that."

Taking a deep breath, she gets to her feet. "I'm gonna head home now. I mean, I'd stay a little longer, but Tony's asleep on my couch and he doesn't know I snuck out. I wanna be back before he wakes up. But I'll come see you again soon, okay?"

For a long moment, she gazes at the headstone, gathering up the strength to walk away. She makes it one step before a thought occurs to her, and she spins around again, biting her lip. "Just… don't head-slap any angels while I'm gone, cause I'm pretty sure that'll piss off the Big Guy."

She can practically see Gibbs' answering grin in her mind, and it's enough to drag a genuine smile from somewhere deep within her. "Enjoy the coffee," she tells him softly, and heads back to her car, leaving the cup of Gibbs' favourite beverage nestled amongst the flowers.


	3. Gibbs at Ducky's Grave

**Author's Note**: Yup, it's been a while for this one - sorry! Finally got hit with some inspiration for this one last night. I'm working through the requests in the order I get them, so it's Ducky's turn to die today...

* * *

**Gibbs - Ducky's grave**

_Friendship_

***

Ducky's grave is next to his mother's, in the cemetery a few minutes' walk from the house he'd lived in for as long as Gibbs had known him. The agent leaves the wake early, pausing only to let the hostess, Dr Hampton, know of his intention. She smiles sadly and kisses his cheek, trying not to let on how much she's struggling with losing her husband-to-be.

Gibbs knows the pain of loss, and has felt it again and again. No matter whether it's a mother, a daughter, a wife or a friend, it never ceases to blindside him. There's no way to prepare for it; no way to develop calluses over his emotions as he has his hands.

He stands at the foot of the grave, inhaling the lingering scent of freshly-turned earth and wishing like hell he'd dropped by a coffee shop before coming here. His addiction to caffeine is mostly physical, but it was Ducky himself who lectured him on the psychological benefits of having coffee nearby.

Gibbs' fingers twitch as the silence stretches on; usually he would take a sip of coffee to fill a few seconds, giving himself time to compose his thoughts. Ducky would see through it instantly, though, and he imagines his old friend looking back at him expectantly. _"Jethro… to what do I owe this pleasure?"_

The medical examiner was Gibbs' exact opposite in a lot of ways. Talkative where Gibbs was laconic; expressive in the face of the other man's stoicism; dealing in fact, whereas Gibbs let his instinct guide him. Yet there was always a bond between the two men, forged over long years of testing boundaries and discovering common ground.

Ducky's curiosity, dry wit and strong moral compass mirrored Gibbs' own, and his unashamed eccentricities proved key in luring the younger man's personality from its shell. Over the years, the two became fast friends, the bond born of mutual respect and unspoken trust.

Only once did a significant rift divide them, caused by Gibbs' post-traumatic retreat to Mexico after the second explosion to almost end his life. For four months, he was absent from the Navy Yard, severing all ties to DC and everyone he knew there. When he returned, Ducky treated him with icy courtesy that was only thawed a couple of months later, by a well-deserved apology.

In the years since, their friendship only strengthened, and the two shared details of their lives that each had once vowed to keep hidden. Ducky favoured Scotch, and often coaxed Gibbs out of 'that ghastly dungeon of a basement' to sit with him by the fire, surrounded by Corgis, at his own residence. Tongues loosened by alcohol, they would reminisce about experiences past, and discuss problems in the present.

After Ducky lost his mother, seeming in his grief to become frail and old, Gibbs' visits became a weekly occurrence. The loss only reminded them of the others who had died before her; Michelle Lee, Jenny Shepard, Paula Cassidy, Caitlin Todd, Chris Pacci. Ducky autopsied them all, and Gibbs never could comprehend how he'd managed it. "Think you'll still be at the Navy Yard to autopsy me?"

"Heavens, Jethro," Ducky had replied, his expression somewhere between amusement and a frown, "you have more lives than the most determined of cats. I should think you'll still be hanging onto life long after I'm gone."

Gibbs can't even begin to guess how much time is left for his own life, but losing his old friend is a bitter pill he's having difficulty choking down. He had always obtained a morbid modicum of comfort from knowing that if he was killed in the line of duty, Ducky would be there talking to him while his chest was cracked open and his organs removed and weighed.

Now that task will fall to Jimmy Palmer, the nervous yet talented young man who'd assisted Ducky through so many autopsies. And though Gibbs has no doubt that the Scotsman trained him well, accepting Palmer as a fully-fledged medical examiner will be difficult – for all of them, Jimmy included.

Where most deaths leave a void, Ducky's has left a crater in the lives of those who knew him, and at the epicentre of that crater stands Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

He stares at Ducky's grave, and doesn't say a word. The one man who encouraged him to open up lies six feet below, and with his demise, Gibbs knows that silence will once again become his companion.


End file.
